


we'll meet again

by liebestraum



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angst, Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 08:25:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15703494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liebestraum/pseuds/liebestraum
Summary: If a tree falls in the forest, and there's nobody around to hear, does it make a sound? Junhui isn’t sure; he was as good as nobody and he had heard the branches crackling loudly as they sunk into the pavement.If the world ends tomorrow and nobody is around, was it ever really there to begin with?





	we'll meet again

_(i) 9 pm_

Junhui is glad it happens at night. He cranes his neck over the brick wall that follows along the pavement and catches a glimpse of the moon, as big as ever, filling up the whole sky. From here he’s standing he can see it tinged in such a bright yellow it seems like it’s glowing, the impersonal coldness emanating from it so close he can almost reach out and touch it.

He vaguely remembers reading in one of his father’s books about how the greeks used to offer the moon sacrifices, drawing hot blood to have meat on the table. He imagines her serene, pale gaze looking down upon them as it is upon him now, her chariot grinding to a halt as she assesses the pitiful mortal before her and Junhui wishes with all his might for her to come down to him, as Athena had to Telemachus, and tell him _It’ll be alright_.  

“You know, by the end of this, we won’t even have the _Mona Lisa_ left,” Jihoon had said a few weeks back while they were preparing to go to bed and everything had still felt far away, a mere joke that had went on for too long and that now loomed over them like a noose ready to be tightened. “I guess not even artifacts were made to last.”

If he squints, Junhui can still make out the sky, faded edges of dark ink blurred at the edges molding into the moon’s deep, wide craters. A row of birds is perched on top of the wire cables, all raven-dark creatures with bulbous white eyes that seem to beckon death with their loud caws. The houses, once speckled in vivid yellows and pinks and blues, are mostly hidden by a dense milky fog and, soon, by the crumbling cloud of ashes. Above them the moon swells a bit more, as if commanding Junhui to look at it, to open up his ears and become aware of his blood boiling, eager to go to her.

Junhui’s so entranced by the bleak landscape that he barely notices a tree collapsing just a few meters away from him, the thud so loud it startles him into dropping his groceries. A car alarm blasts off - the rusty vihature had been there for months, probably abandoned by someone once the gas had ran out, and the sound it makes is strident and startling in the dead silence, bone chilling in the deserted streets.

“Shit,” Junhui mumbles under his breath, picking the bags up immediately. Jihoon wouldn’t like seeing his last meal go to waste. “Calm down, Jun.”

Junhui peers over his shoulder to assess the damage. If he were someplace else in any other time he’d laugh at his luck. If a tree falls in the forest, and there's nobody around to hear, does it make a sound? Junhui isn’t sure; he was as good as nobody and he had heard the branches crackling loudly as they sunk into the pavement.

If the world ends tomorrow and nobody is around, was it ever really there to begin with?

“You’re late,” Jihoon tells him when he arrives home. They hadn’t bothered to lock the door lately, so Junhui simply walks in and sets the groceries on the table before sneaking his arms around Jihoon’s waist. “How is it outside?”

“A tree almost fell on top of me,” Junhui says and Jihoon chuckles dryly as if Junhui had just told him a corny joke. “Guess someone up there wanted me to have this dinner with you.”

Jihoon leans back on Junhui’s chest and kisses the underside of his jaw. “I guess so.”

Their last meal - though neither of them had never really called it that out loud - is homemade kimchi that they make out of the ingredients Junhui had gotten from the abandoned grocery store down the street. Junhui had always figured, if he was in death row or a similar scenario, that he’d want his last meal to be some variant of cheap fast food, or popcorns, or even cake. Yet, when they had sat together yesterday watching the ashes getting nearer and nearer, Jihoon had said, “I want kimchi for tomorrow,” and Junhui had felt that even that was more than he could stomach.

By the end of the preparation Junhui had lost track of time. What were two hours anymore? Two days? Two weeks?

“Feed me,” Jihoon tells him, smiling like he’s teasing him. They’re sitting next to each other on the kitchen table, because even sitting across from each other hurts, as if a rope is binding them together and pulling itself taunt whenever they’re apart.

“Only if you feed me too,” Junhui says.

The kimchi is warm and tastes like home. Home used to be so far away from him, in another country, in another culture. He guides the fork to Jihoon’s mouth, his tongue filling with spice and pasta while Jihoon chews it until Junhui’s mouth is just kimchi and Jihoon and home, each not ending or starting anywhere, but intertwining together instead.

He wonders if Jihoon is also remembering all the times he ate kimchi like he is. The first time he did was at a restaurant with his parents when they had moved to Korea and he had hated it. The time after that had been at a friend’s birthday, sitting at the tail end of a long table at a cheap restaurant, and he had barely touched it as everyone around him laughed and talked. Never to him, though. He had to eat a bowl of ice cream when he got home to get the taste off his mouth. The third time was when he met Jihoon’s mother. He was already twenty by then and had thought his taste buds couldn’t change anymore. She had placed the plate full of kimchi in front of him and all Junhui could think of was how he had to try his best to pretend he liked it only to find that each flavor in the dish became tastier with every forkful and by the end he found himself asking for a second serving.

“I told you,” Jihoon had said, watching Junhui with amusement, tilted head supported on top of his fist. “She makes the best kimchi in the country.”

“Jun,” Jihoon whispers now, snapping Junhui out of his reverie. His eyes had started to well up, so Junhui blinks the tears away and clears his throat in a manner he hopes is discrete. “I want to watch it from the balcony.”

Junhui assents, numb and distant, as if Jihoon had just asked him to go watch fireworks with him. An explosion would suit the situation well, Junhui thinks. _Boom_ , pieces of flesh and wood flying, quick and deafeningly concrete. Jihoon frowns at him, lips pursed so tightly they become almost a distressed line from point a to point b. Junhui remembers kissing those two corners of Jihoon’s mouth just weeks after they met- a promise, locked and sealed under the secrecy of Jihoon’s lips.

Everything seems to be going by so fast.

“Look,” Jihoon calls, and Junhui hadn’t noticed he wasn’t next to him anymore. “Seungcheol’s house is falling.”

 

 _(ii) 8 am_  

Seungcheol hugs Jihoon so tightly Junhui is afraid he’ll break his spine. Jihoon’s back had never quite straightened out ever since he got into a motorcycle accident and Junhui found himself covering Jihoon’s lower back with his hand after Seungcheol lets go.

“There’s nowhere to run, Cheol,” Jihoon says, voice flat. “Where are you going to go?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere until I can’t run away anymore. Maybe-“ but they had had this conversation multiple times before, so Seungcheol shuts up. “You should come with us.”

“Cheol...” Jihoon sighs, looking down. “Be careful out there.”

Seungcheol had joined a group of survivors who called themselves _Knights of the Apocalypse_ (he thought it was cheesy but Jihoon had thought making light of the situation made it a good name) when they had stopped to refuel their bus and gather more supplies. Junhui looks at Seungcheol and wants to tell him to take their books with him, to memorize the pages by heart if the pages were ever to crumble apart, but deems the idea too far-fetched and idiotic after that fleeting moment of despair. 

“I have to go,” Seungcheol pats Junhui’s shoulder, gripping it as if he needs something to stabilize himself. “Take care of Jihoon, will you?” 

Jihoon huffs next to him, muttering something about Junhui being the one needing to be taken care of. “I will,” Junhui assures him. “Good luck.”

Jihoon watches the bus disappear from the closed window, forehead pressed against the cool glass. The vehicle is the same kind as the ones they used to take to college when they were still strangers who looked up from time to time to glance at each other across the bus when they thought the other was distracted, the same model that used to pass by so often Junhui didn’t even bother checking the schedules when he had to go somewhere. 

The streets are empty now. Everyone must have left already or are locked up in their houses just like them. They must have seen the ashes too.

“Do you want to have breakfast?” Jihoon asks, finally moving away from the window to walk to the counter. 

“I’m not hungry,” Junhui says. “I want…”

“Yes?” Jihoon arches an eyebrow when Junhui trails off.

“Nevermind,” Junhui moves over to stand next to Jihoon, pouring himself a glass of water. “Let’s go to the living room, alright?”

Jihoon takes Junhui’s glass and downs the remaining water in one gulp. It’s so early in the morning that they still hadn’t bothered getting off of their pajamas and Jihoon’s dark circles around his eyes are even more pronounced from his lack of sleep over the last few days. _It’s like he refuses to close his eyes_ , Junhui had thought time and time again, curling up next to Jihoon in bed, clinging to his waist, tangling their legs. _Please, sleep_ , he’d beg silently to no one in particular. _You must be exhausted. Just close your eyes, dear_. 

“What is it that you want, Jun?.”

 

_(iii) 11 pm_

The balcony seems smaller than it ever had before. They had bought a cheap plastic white table with a set of chairs when they had moved in, and the color has faded out into a greyish yellow, stains and scratches and piles of dirt between the cracks accumulating over the years.

Jihoon moves the table to the furthest corner and places the chairs next to one another. The night is chilly and ominous, but seeing Jihoon bring his knees to his chest after sitting down and covering himself with the thick blanket they got themselves under during every christmas while drinking hot coffee made his body warm up with fondness. 

“Do you think they’ll make it?” Jihoon questions after Junhui joins him. “Do you think they’ll survive?”

“Maybe,” Junhui replies, more optimistic than he feels. “If they don’t stop, ever. Like _Snowpiercer_.”

“That was a great movie,” Jihoon smiles, leaning his head on Junhui’s shoulder. “I’m going to miss watching movies.” 

Junhui moves his hand to the back of Jihoon’s head and drags his fingers down his soft black hair (it used to be pink in college, then blonde, then red, then Junhui started dying his hair too and they lost count until the world started coughing up its last breaths and Jihoon had said “Have you ever seen me with my natural hair outside of pictures?”). Junhui doesn’t think he’ll miss movies as much as he’ll miss watching them with Jihoon. Holding hands at the theater or sneaking kisses whenever the dvd they bought became too boring and predictable.

“I hope Seungcheol has watched _Star Wars_. That’s our legacy,” Junhui jokes to lighten up the air.

Jihoon smiles indulgently, buries his forehead on Junhui’s neck. “Remember my accident?”

“Yes,” Junhui says after a beat of bemusement. Jihoon has never really talked about what had happened that day.

“I thought I was gonna die then. You know, I just felt my body propelling forward and the next thing I knew I was lying on the ground. And I thought, ‘Okay, this is death. It’s alright. It would come sooner or later.’. But I couldn’t accept it at all,” Jihoon interrupts himself, inhales deeply. “I felt so stupid and weak. As if maybe, if I begged, death would let me go unscathed. ‘I’m young’, I’d say like that was an argument. ‘I have Jun waiting for me at home’,” Jihoon covers the back of Junhui’s hand with his. “‘I haven’t even bought those cupcakes we wanted to try’. And then death would release its grip from my arm and go ‘Oh, okay then’ and I’d breathe again.”

“You did breathe again,” Junhui says gently. “And we tried those cupcakes. They were terrible.”

“They really were the fucking worst,” Jihoon laughs and Junhui commits the sound to memory. “What were we thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Junhui presses his lips to the top of Jihoon’s head, hand moving to Jihoon’s cheek to make him look up. “But I’m glad they spared you,” Junhui says and kisses him.

Jihoon whines and parts his lips when he feels Junhui’s tongue on them, both of their movements languid and gentle, feeling each other as if it’s the first time. Jihoon’s hand hooks itself on the curve of Junhui’s inner elbow and Junhui is aware of Jihoon’s nose pressing against his cheek, of Jihoon’s unsteady breathing and warm mouth.

They lean away for a moment, but Junhui keeps their foreheads pressed together, his eyes closed.

“I love you,” Junhui utters inadvertently. “Marry me.”

“What?” Jihoon breathes out another laugh, shaky and short. “Sure. Let’s- Let’s get married.” 

“We already had our first dance,” Junhui reminds him. 

“Yeah,” Jihoon grabs the hand Junhui has on his cheek and brings it to his lips, grinning with teary eyes. “I guess we did.”

 

 _(iv) 12 pm_  

Junhui is waiting in the living room eating some rice cookies straight from the packet. Some of the crumbles fall onto his lap and he swipes them off into the carpet carelessly.

“Okay, I’m coming out,” Jihoon shouts from the hall.

“You’re a few years late, darling!” Junhui chirps back which earns him a very audible “Fuck off!” as Jihoon rounds the corner to the living room.

“Oh, uh,” Junhui clenches his jaw to keep it from hanging open. “I forgot how good you looked in that.”

Jihoon twirls on his heels to show off his suit, tailored to fit him like a glove as per request of his mother. Junhui misses her - she had been a very kind-hearted, open-minded woman, even smaller than Jihoon, and she had loved Junhui as if he was her own son. Junhui remembers clear as day when she had called them immediately after the news cast had announced a state of emergency and every day after that until they had never heard from her again. Junhui’s own parents had kept in contact every other day until they didn’t anymore and he’d cried just as hard as Jihoon had when he’d called his mother one day and a loud beep followed the silence on the other line.

“I look fucking amazing, you mean,” Jihoon laughs, offering his hand to help Junhui get up from the couch. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Junhui had simply put on one of his many boring business suits and ties he had stored in his closet and a fancy pocket handkerchief. He’s about to say as much when Jihoon tugs his sleeve to guide him to the rows of records they have lined up on the shelves. Junhui lets his fingers run over them, trying to memorize their spines and how they feel under his hand. Jihoon loves their records.

“I was thinking Vera Lynn,” Jihoon pulls out the vinyl from its case and places it on the record player after Junhui agrees. “Ah, it has that song from _Casablanca_. Remember that movie?”

“Play it, Sam,” Junhui whispers, seizing both of Jihoon’s hands in his. “Play _As Time Goes By_.”

Jihoon hums as the song starts and Junhui pulls him close. “You lead.”

“Only if you lead next. You know I have two left feet,” Junhui says, beginning to swing slowly.

Jihoon shakes his head against Junhui’s shoulder. “Liar.” 

 _You must remember this_  
_A kiss is still a kiss_  
_A sigh is just a sigh_  
_The fundamental things apply_

“ _As time goes by_ ,” Jihoon sings, cheek pressed to Junhui’s chest.

Junhui doesn’t feel a thing besides Jihoon: his hands, his heaving chest, his head, his socked feet brushing against his own when they miss a step. Time flows and envelops them both, like a bubble wrapping them and keeping them in, leading them down the stream as they swing their bodies from one side to the other. Down and down and down.

“Would you kill me if I asked you to?” Junhui winces at Jihoon’s question, taken aback. “Jun?”

“No,” Junhui says, pulling Jihoon closer by the waist. “What kind of question is that?”

“I’m just scared it’ll hurt,” Jihoon admits, pulling away slightly to look up at him. “You could just. Stab me.”

“Oh, and that won’t hurt?” Junhui grins, but it feels forced even to himself. “I won’t leave you. We’ll go through it together.”

“Of course.”

The song changes to _We’ll Meet Again_ and Junhui lowers himself to bury his face on the crook of Jihoon’s neck. “It’s going to be fine. We had fun.” 

“Let’s not talk about it, okay?” Jihoon’s voice quivers and Junhui feels helpless. He wants to cry as well.

The music fills the room and as Junhui closes his eyes he can imagine them dancing in a parisiense bar in the 1940s, chatter indistinguishable around them, glasses clinking and chairs scratching. Bombs bursting in the distance. Jihoon’s pale face stained with blood, eyes closed while Junhui holds his body up.

Junhui opens his eyes. “Can we eat cereal for lunch?”

“Well, I decided dinner, so it’s only fair you get to choose what’s for lunch,” Jihoon says and Junhui feels his neck vibrating with each word, as if provenient from a muffled box inside his chest that had been winded up. “I want to get back into my pajamas.”

“Just let the song end,” Junhui whispers, flinching at his own voice, scratchy and brimming with emotion. “This reminds me of New Year’s.”

“You remember that? It was, like, years ago,” Jihoon teases him and the song swells before lulling to its end.

“Yes. You looked so cute, all drunk and telling me you loved me,” Junhui laughs and picks Jihoon up by the waist when the other starts complaining. “Telling me you wanted to kiss me so bad.”

“Oh God, shut up,” Jihoon whines as Junhui sets him down on the couch and brackets him in with one knee. “That was embarrassing.”

“I liked it,” Junhui bends down to meet Jihoon’s lips briefly. “You should tell me again.”

“Keep dreaming,” Jihoon grabs Junhui’s chin and digs his fingers into Junhui’s cheeks. “I wouldn’t kiss you in a million years.”

Junhui plucks Jihoon’s arm away by his wrist and grins at Jihoon’s little reenactment. “We’ll just have to wait and see if you’ll resist my charms, then.”

“If you say so,” Jihoon says and lets Junhui kiss him for the rest of the afternoon.

 

 _(v) midnight_  

The moon is almost swallowing them alive.

Jihoon’s body had already begun to heat up despite the chill of the night wind, his mouth open to help him breathe. Junhui had heard about these symptoms on the news when the situation was still confusing and the tv still worked instead of being simply made up from webs of static.

 _It feels like you’re burning and drowning at the same time_ , a lady in her 50s who had been rescued from one of the early cities had told the tv reporter, gulping gasps of air as if she had been afraid she wouldn’t be able to again. Jihoon had sat next to Junhui, drinking his morning coffee before leaving for work, his eyes fixed on the black liquid. Junhui had wanted to say it was going to be okay, they’d figure it out, they always did, or perhaps make a joke about Will Smith saving them all on Independence Day. Instead he had stayed resolutely quiet, looking at his hands and realising for the first time how useless they truly were.

“Jihoon,” he calls out, softly, as if he’s afraid the storm would hear them too soon. “I’m here.”

Jihoon leans on Junhui’s shoulder wordlessly and Junhui can feel his skin burning even through his shirt. “It doesn’t hurt,” Jihoon says after what feels like an eternity. Their small eternity, stretching to an end.

“What doesn’t hurt?” Junhui’s voice grows a bit hysterical, so he coughs to cover it up and wraps an arm around Jihoon’s shoulders. “Hey, Jihoonie? Darling?”

“Is it my birthday tomorrow?” Jihoon asks and Junhui can feel himself losing grip of his emotions. “I don’t want to be thirty already.”

“No, of course not,” Junhui uses his free arm to bring Jihoon’s head closer to his chest where his heart is beating so fast Junhui can feel it pumping in his ears, in his temples, in his fingertips. “But if you want to we can go to that park you like tomorrow, okay? Like it’s your birthday, except this time you don’t really age.”

“That’s so smart,” Jihoon chuckles faintly. His body quivers in Junhui’s arms and for a moment he feels like he’s holding a frightened bird, its wing broken and limp as Junhui tries to assemble it together with his useless hands. “Am I going insane already?”

“No one’s going insane,” Junhui says, sternly.

“Soon enough I’ll be suffocating. Jun, I- I don’t want you to see me like that. Just…” Jihoon tries to peel himself off of Junhui, but fails to do so. Junhui’s body is starting to burn from the inside out as well. “Turn around? Please?”

“Okay,” Junhui agrees and it hits him then that he’s crying. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Jihoon says back, kissing him one last time.

Junhui turns his chair to face the opposite balcony wall, covered in moss and cobwebs, Jihoon’s head still pending towards his shoulder before he caves in and lets it rest. Junhui’s eyes sting and for a moment he doesn’t comprehend why, what the raindrops in his palm mean. Then his head clears up again when Jihoon starts whining and writhing in pain behind him.

Junhui can feel him - his skull bumping against Junhui’s shoulder blade, his fingers clawing at the armrest, his indistinguishable sounds of pain getting louder and louder until they’re unbearable to listen to. Junhui presses his balled up fists against his wet eyes, tries to think of Jihoon with his pink hair studying in the library, with his blond hair laughing at Junhui’s joke at a restaurant, with his dark wide eyes screwed shut as he sleeps, lips parted slightly, but it’s as if there’s a sheer curtain drawn on Jihoon’s lovely face that Junhui can’t peer through, a blur he can’t quite bring into focus. Jihoon starts wheezing and Junhui can notice him struggling to breathe, his throat closing as his lungs fail him.

“Junhui…” He manages to whisper, feebly and through gritted teeth. “Jun?”

“Ssh, it’s okay, I’m here,” Junhui is full out sobbing now, but it’s not as if anyone but Jihoon can hear him anymore. He holds out his hand blindly and runs it down Jihoon’s arm until he finds his hand to lace their fingers together. “I’m here, love.”

“I’m scared,” Jihoon isn’t violently moving anymore. His body slowly sinks into the chair, tired and ready to give in. “I don’t want to die.”

“I know, Jihoon,” Junhui sniffs, makes his words clearer. “It’s okay.”

Jihoon doesn’t reply. Junhui is too scared to turn around, to see. Should he pray to a God now? To the moon, so impassively gazing down at them? Jihoon squeezes his hand and Junhui’s heart jerks so strongly he feels as if it’ll stop right after it. Was it Jihoon’s birthday tomorrow? He couldn’t remember.

“ _We’ll meet again…_ ” Junhui sings through a broken whisper, mostly to hear something other than chaos rumbling on every surface. _“Don’t know when… don’t know where…_ ”

The house shakes, the cacophony of plates shattering and of things falling dully on the floor making him sick to his stomach. Is it pictures from their vacation on Italy? The chinaware Jihoon’s grandmother had offered them before she passed? Their books, their movies, their records?

 _I love you_ , he repeats in his head like a mantra when Jihoon’s hand stops gripping his and goes slowly limp. Junhui’s throat hurts from crying, and then from all the dust entering his mouth and nose, and then he can’t breathe anymore. _I love you, I love you, Jihoon, Jihoon_.

Everything is crumbling slowly around them. He can’t see anything anymore, just soot and fog, so he closes his eyes again. The moon is certainly there and Jihoon’s body is warm next to his. Junhui’s chest hurts for a moment, but everything else feels numb. 

 _We’ll meet again some sunny day._  

He closes his eyes and waits.

 

_(before)_

“Don’t fucking vomit on my carpet!” Jeonghan yells at Soonyoung, desperately pulling him towards the bathroom.

Junhui eyes the scene with amusement from the corner of the room, the cocktail in his cup still untouched. “What are they even doing?”

“Don’t ask me,” Mingyu shrugs, pushing his hair back. “They all drank too much, I guess. Even Jihoon hyung.”

“Jihoon?” Junhui asks, surprised. “He drinks?” 

“He does now,” Mingyu laughs, yet immediately freezes when Jeonghan calls him over to help before running off with a rushed apology, leaving Junhui alone.

The party is too loud and confusing, so Junhui wanders around Jeonghan’s house aimlessly, sipping on his glass as he walks over from group of people to group of people. When it gets empty he moves to the kitchen and there he finds Jihoon, slumped over Jeonghan’s table with his head between his arms.

“Hey,” Junhui speaks out, nudging Jihoon’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Jihoon looks up without raising his head, whining. “Junhui?”

“You look pretty rough,” Junhui says when Jihoon sits up, although in reality he really likes the way Jihoon’s pink hair sticks up next to his ears and how his eyes are slightly glassy, his pupils blown out.

“Jun!” Jihoon yelps, jutting his bottom lip out in a pout. “Why didn’t you come look for me when you arrived?”

“Should I have?” Junhui tilts his head in amusement. He’s never seen Jihoon drunk before.

“Yes! You know… you know about it,” Jihoon slurs, pointing an accusing finger at Junhui. “About m-my crush on you. And yet you still ignored me? Asshole.”

“Oh, do I know?” Junhui leans his forearms on the table, suddenly interested. “Because if I remember correctly, you told me you wouldn’t kiss me in a million years just last week.”

“I was lying,” Jihoon admits, his gaze dancing over Junhui’s features. “I want to kiss you… a lot. You’re so pretty, Jun.”

Junhui chuckles, brushing away Jihoon’s fringe with his fingers. “You’re cute.”

“Am not,” Jihoon argues, frowning. “Why don’t you just kiss me?”

Junhui pretends to mull it over with a pensive glance at the ceiling, starts moving closer and watches as Jihoon flutters his eyelashes shut. He presses two chaste kisses to the corner of Jihoon’s mouth, not quite on his cheek and not quite on his lips, then pulls away.

Jihoon opens his eyes, disappointed. “Why?”

“I’m not kissing you while you’re drunk, dummy,” Junhui says.

The countdown starts on the living room and they both look at the door as drunk jeers and wishes of a happy new year fill the air. Abba’s _Happy New Year_ plays on Jeonghan’s speakers in the living room, the guests’ voices calming down into excited chatter.

Jihoon seizes Junhui’s hand in his all of a sudden, like he had forgotten something. “Hey. Happy New Year.”

Junhui grins back at him. “Happy New Year, Jihoon,” he peers over his shoulder before turning to Jihoon again. “Wanna dance?”

Jihoon nods eagerly, standing up with a stumble and giggling at his own drunken clumsiness. “Oh, I’m definitely going to regret this in the morning.”

“No regrets,” Junhui tells him, holding his waist tightly. “Just dancing.”

“Alright,” Jihoon agrees, smiling brightly. “Just dancing.”

Junhui twirls them around the kitchen, slowly so Jihoon won’t get sick, Jihoon’s party hat poking the side of his jaw. The music coming from another room sounds almost surreal as they move together, a dream-like fuzzy sensation of drowsiness and bliss.

“I like you, Jun,” Jihoon sighs and it sounds so sincere Junhui’s whole body aches to kiss him and say it back. “Go out with me.”

“Let’s just go to the living room, okay?” Junhui says when the song ends, pulling away reluctantly. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Jihoon complains, crossing his arms stubbornly and looking up at Junhui with incredulous eyes. “That’s so far away.”

“Don’t worry,” Junhui says, smiling. “We have all the time in the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone, this is my first seventeen fic! i'm so nervous but also excited to finally enter this community after wanting to for so long. i couldn't have done it without my twitter pals choco and wafa who basically held my hand throughout the whole process and also everyone who inspires me to write and spew out this messy jumble of words that i hope is enough to at least make someone happy (or... i guess sad in this case lmao) while reading it. thank you to anyone who reads this and comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!


End file.
